Martyr Complex
by MovePeonyMove
Summary: Jordan Parrish wasn't supposed to die. He wasn't supposed to come back to life, not remembering anything. Including Lydia. (Updated quickly)
1. Somewhere In Between

_Somewhere in Between_

Lydia wakes up with the nagging feeling in her brain. She runs her hands through her hair, rubs her eyes. She's forgetting something. Checks her phone. Nothing. She lets out a disappointing sigh. Goes downstairs for breakfast.

But the feeling is still there. It becomes more immediate as the day goes by.

"So my dad's not coming home until late," Stiles says at lunch. "Apparently Parrish didn't show up."

Lydia forgets to swallow. _Jordan._

"Why didn't he show up?" She asks hastily, but she already knows. Already feels her throat closing up with fear.

Scott notices. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes," she musters. Something is really wrong. But there is still time. Lydia hopes there's still time.

"Is this about Parrish?" Stiles asks, getting up from the table along with her. Malia looks at him uncertainly. Everyone's eyes are on Lydia now, eyebrows furrowed. She feels stupid.

"He's dying." She says.

They're running through the halls of the school. She's trying to figure our where he is, but the voices are growing louder and she knows that means he's closer to death.

"He's not answering," Stiles says somewhere in the background. "I called like twenty times."

"Can't exactly answer," Malia quips. "if he's dead."

Lydia's head whips towards her. She's angry, unreasonably so. "He's not dead." She says through gritted teeth. The voices are so loud. "Yet."

Everyone is expecting her to know. Expecting her to lead them to him, but she doesn't know what to do. She's panicking, the voices are screaming in unison but she can't discern a thing.

"Guys, calm down." It's Derek talking. He's standing next to his car. Looks calm, but Lydia can tell his mind is a mess. Parrish wasn't exactly a part of their pack, but he's important. He's important to her.

"He's been taken by a werewolf pack." Derek says hastily. "Braeden is hunting them down. We gotta follow. She's gonna need backup."

Everyone's dispersing now, Scott with Derek. Stiles is running towards his Jeep.

"Lydia?" Derek asks. "How much time have we got?"

She swallows hard. Tries to concentrate. "Not much."

Derek nods, his lips a tight line. "Get in," he says. 

They're driving really fast. And it happens. Lydia feels the scream, ripping through her insides like an orb of pure energy. She tries to keep it back, give them more time, but she can't. There's no point, the scream is just a sign. She lets it out, feels the scalding hot tears running down her face. Fingernails dig into her thighs, break skin. The scream is not just a sign of Jordan's death. It's her own death too.

"Lydia," Scott says from the back. His voice is small. "Lydia, I'm sorry."

There's nothing to be sorry for. She's lost another person she loved. And Lydia _loved_ him. He made it so difficult, age difference, this and that. There would always be time, he said. Let's take it slow. And now, there was no time. There was no Jordan Parrish to wait for.

Derek pulls the car over. They've been driving through the woods, but Lydia can barely feel the unfavorable terrain.

"We need to find him," Derek says quietly. Lydia knows they're only quiet for her sake.

She stumbles out of the car, Scott holding her up. "You should stay here," he says. "This is too much."

Lydia laughs. It's a desperate laugh. "I can help,"

"You'll drive yourself over the brink."

"I'm already there, Scott." She says. "Between Lydia, and Aiden and _him_. I might as well sign up for Eichen House."

There's a rustling in the distance. Autumn leaves under the feet of Braeden.

"That pack," she says, clutching her arm. "a group of fucked up bastards."

"What happened?" Derek asks, surveying the wound.

"They're into experimentation." She says. "Hyped up on something that made them a bitch to kill."

She looks to Lydia. "I'm sorry. They had him tied to a table, tortured him."

"Why?" Scott asks. "What did they want with him?"

"Wanted something he had? His powers?" Braeden says. "Dumped his body in the woods. Nearly killed me too. What took so long?"

Derek sighs. "We need to find the body."

Lydia shudders. There's a whisper in her head, a chanting she can't decipher. Something isn't right. Someone else is dying.

"Was there anyone else?" Lydia asks shakily. "Was there anyone else with Parrish?"

Braeden furrows her brows. "No one I saw."

"We need to look," she says. "There's someone else."

"Okay," Scott says finally. "Okay, let's look." 

The abandoned building is empty. Medical paraphernalia scatters the floor, the wobbly table. Needles, tubes. Lydia shudders. There are deep scratches where Jordan's hands would have been on the table, bloodstains. They tortured him.

"There's nobody here," Derek says finally. "Lydia?"

She shakes her head. "No, there has to be someone."

"Are you sure? Here?"

She furrows her brows, tries to concentrate on the noises in her head. "I don't know where." She says.

They get back to the woods, search of Jordan's body because they don't want coyotes tearing it apart. Malia claims it might be too late, but she falls quiet when Stiles whispers something in her ear. Lydia feels overwhelmed, but like a game of hot or cold, she feels the voices grow louder the further they get into the woods.

They find his body near a large oak. Lydia stays back, deals with the voices. Barely hears anything else. She doesn't want to see him dead. Refuses to think about it. This has been so hard. She exhales, but the weight in her chest remains.

"Something isn't right," Stiles' voice cuts through the noise. "I think he's still alive!"

Lydia whips around, approaches the group cautiously. They pull away to let her through. The voices still hiss and scream in her head, and she tries her best to block them out. And there he is. His torn up body, covered in cuts and bruises. Swollen. Hair matted to his forehead, eyes purple with bruising. Mouth covered in old blood. She feels a cold shiver run down her spine, wants to clutch his broken body. Wants to scream.

"We need to get him to the hospital. He's dying. Fast." Derek instructs. 

And they're in the car again, Jordan's head in her lap and she's cradling him, trying to stop her hot tears from falling onto his face. But they drip drop involuntarily. His life is hanging in a limbo, and she feels a mixture or relief and extreme fear. And confusion. Were her Banshee abilities wrong? Why did she scream if he wasn't dead? Perhaps someone else had died. But who?

He's in the hospital now, and the doctor says it's a coma. The Sherriff is here too, arguing with Stiles in a hushed voice. And Lydia is sitting outside the room because you have to be family to see him. She's been waiting for Scott's mom, knows she'll make an exception.

"At least he's alive," Kira says. "That's more than we expected."

Lydia nods. "I just don't understand," she says. "Why was I wrong?"

"Maybe a coma is close enough to death?"

"No," Lydia says. "It wouldn't be."

"There's only one explanation," Deaton says that evening. "He did die."

"But he's breathing," Scott interjects. "He's not dead."

Deaton sighs. "He was dead at the time of Lydia's scream."

"So he resurrected?" Stiles asks.

"Yes," he says. "He's in the process."

"He's not human, we know that." Derek says. "And this wouldn't be the first time." Stiles releases a badly timed snort.

"Precisely." Deaton says. "But if my hunch is right, then his regenerative abilities have everything to do with what he is."

"Which is?" Malia coaxes.

"A Pheonix."

"And he doesn't know?"

"He wouldn't know." He says. "He wouldn't remember."

Lydia's throat feels dry. Her eyes burn with agony and desperation. Jordan wouldn't remember. He wouldn't remember her, or-

"He's alive," Deaton says finally. "That should be enough."

"It is," Lydia croaks, but hot tears run down her face anyways.


	2. An Unwelcome Promotion

_An Unwelcome Promotion _

"We need to keep an eye on him," Deaton says, "He'll be confused and out of control."

"We'll take turns watching then," Kira suggests. "But what then?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Deaton sighs. His gaze settles on Lydia. She's standing away from the group, staring into her cup of cold coffee. She hates herself for wishing he'd have died instead. Instead of _this_.

"Lydia," Scott says. "It'll be okay."

She feels embarrassed for herself. Everyone is looking at her, thinking about how devastated she is. Pitying her. They all know about Jordan and now they have an excuse to treat her like a broken little flower. And she feels selfish. Feels selfish because she craves that attention.

"I know," Lydia says. "I'll start."

Jordan doesn't have any family, not in Beacon Hills. Melissa bargained with the administration to let his friends see him, so now she can see the process of his recovery with her own eyes. She can watch him look at her with a confused expression, ask stupid questions. They can never be what they could have been. That's the part that hurts the most. They never _were_. And now they can never be.

Two weeks go by, Lydia taking turns with the rest of the pack. Watching Jordan, making sure he doesn't wake up unsupervised. They have to tell him something. Tell him how he ended up like this.

"Don't reveal anything about the supernatural," Deaton says, rubbing his eyes. "Don't put any pressure on him to remember." He looks at Lydia first, and she sighs.

When he does wake up, it's on Lydia's watch, and she's thankful for it in a strange way. His eyelids recede slowly, deliberately. The same way they did those countless sleepless nights at the police station. He looks around first, then at Lydia.

"Jordan," she whispers shakily. His brows furrow, as though he's trying very hard to recall her face, or her voice. There's silence now, and she feels uncomfortable in breaking it again.

"You were in a coma," Lydia says. "A tragic accident. Do you remember anything?"

Jordan blinks a couple of times, looks down at himself, sighs. "Was it at the police station?"

"You remember the police station?"

"Yes, I work there. With Sheriff Stilinski." He says.

Lydia nods, moves closer towards him. His expression is awkward, makes her skin crawl.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Are you my girlfriend? Or wife?"

Lydia's shoulders hunch. "No," she says. "I'm just an acquaintance."

His face relaxes slightly and he exhales. "This feels strangely familiar."

She's been dreading this moment since she learned about Jordan's amnesia, and there it was, unfolding just as she had expected.

"Did he remember you?" Malia asks, chewing on her sandwich in the hospital cafeteria.

"No," Lydia says, trying not to let it bother her. "Had no clue who I was."

"Did you tell him?"

"No, Malia." She says sharply. "Deaton said not to put any pressure on him. We were never exactly involved, anyways. There's no point."

Malia snorts. "You _so_ were involved. He was just waiting for you to be legal."

"Yeah," she says. "He was waiting, and this is the result. Can we drop it?"

Malia shrugs, plays it off as nothing. Lydia can appreciate that. She wants to feel like it's nothing too.

"By the way," Malia says. "Derek knows something about the pack that kidnapped Parrish. I think it's serious."

It is serious. They are trying to find a way to become immortal, or at least invincible. That's why they targeted Jordan.

"Except, how did they know about him before we even did?" Stiles asks.

"We don't know. I assume they got their hands on the Deadpool. Did some research." Derek says.

"How are they trying to use Parrish's powers?" Scott asks. "How is that even possible?"

"From what is evident, they're using modern science. They grafted his bone, took a lot of blood. They're trying to figure out what gives him the regenerative powers."

"So, they're a pack of werewolf scientists?" Stiles asks indignantly.

"Their ancestors were shamans. Braeden couldn't kill them because they are already stronger than us. And now they're trying to get even stronger."

"Okay, so we got another wolf pack on our back." Scott says. "Lets get to it."

"Not so fast," Derek says. "We don't know where they're from, and we need Parrish to be protected from another attack."

"They killed him."

"They knew he'd regenerate. Useful technique not to leave any evidence. He can't tell us what he doesn't remember."

They're releasing Jordan in a couple of days, and he's certainly doing well for someone who doesn't remember the past two years of his life. Lydia finds it extremely difficult to be on watch, finds his scars fading, personality returning to normal. Except she's not in his life anymore, and it feels incredibly isolating.

"I can't wait to get back to the station," he says.

"You'll be able to go soon," she answers, her eyes glued to the page of her textbook. She's avoiding looking at him.

"Do you need any help with that?" Jordan asks after a pause.

"You don't remember what you did a month ago, but think you can handle Calculus?"

"It's the least I can do in return for your company."

Lydia's heart flutters, painfully.

"I can handle it," she says. "I'm quite smart."

His face falls slightly, and Lydia suddenly feels responsible for his disappointment. But she knows she can't afford to be swept away by him again; they'll both get hurt. Doesn't want to make him feel guilty for not remembering the very insignificant moments they shared, and doesn't want to hold his inability to remember against him. So she pushes him away.

Until he's back in the police station, and she's sitting in the interrogation room, trying to figure out the location of the shaman pack. She's about to leave, but Jordan stands in the doorway, blocking the exit.

"This feels oddly familiar," he muses.

"Just Deja vu." Lydia says dryly.

He sits at the table. "You've been very kind to me,"

"I really need to head out now," Lydia says. "It's getting late."

He grabs her by the wrist. "Just hear me out," he says.

Lydia shudders at the sudden physical contact.

"You've been very kind and attentive, but say you're nothing more than an acquaintance. I want to promote us to friends." He gives her a warm smile, and she wants to vomit. Wants the earth to open up and swallow her.

"Friends," she musters, her throat constricted by a burning orb. Then hurries off, holding in the tears until she's in her car. Feels pathetic for not letting it go already. Lydia, let it go. There's no going back.


	3. The Happy Birthday Scream

_The "Happy Birthday" Scream_

She avoids the police station, but cannot avoid Jordan. He's permeated her dreams, makes it so much difficult to wake up and face reality. A reality without him.

"I don't know if avoiding him is the right thing to do," Kira says. "At least tell him what happened."

Lydia shrugs. "He's doing fine now. Dealt with the amnesia like a trooper."

"But you're not fine." Kira insists.

"What are you talking about?" Lydia laughs stiffly. "I'm over it."

And she should be over it. They say time heals all wounds, but even three months after the accident, her wounds are fresh. More like a puss-filled infected mess, she corrects herself. And there's no news of the pack, no leads. Derek and Scott grow irritated, desperate. She knows they're hoping she could snap back and help. But the voices show her no affinity, and she feels no affinity towards them either.

It's on a cold April morning that she awakes with a million voices in her head, speaking in codes she cannot decode. So she heads to the police station, wants to talk with Stiles.

That's how she ends up in the interrogation room again, peering over a blank piece of paper, pushing onto the point of her pencil until it breaks. She sharpens it. Breaks it again.

"You haven't been here in a long while," a voice catches her off guard. She sucks in air.

"Haven't had a reason to."

"What's the reason today?" Jordan asks, sitting across from her, a curios smile on his lips.

"I'm working on a riddle."

"Let me help," he says. "I'm on my lunch break."

"I'd really rather handle it on my own." Lydia stammers. That's what you get for coming here, she thinks.

Jordan's lips tighten in disappointment. She wishes she didn't have to see it in her peripheral vision.

But no matter how dismissive she is of him, he's there each day, trying to persuade her that he can help. It almost feels comforting. Almost.

"Why do you want to help so much?" She asks eventually, eyes burning with the lack of sleep.

Jordan laughs airily. "You might think I'm crazy," he says, "but I feel very comfortable sitting here with you. Almost as though I've been doing it my whole life."

Lydia swallows hard.

"You know, I keep having flashes." He says. "Nothing distinct. Just little moments of ecstasy. Something used to make me really happy, but I haven't rediscovered it yet."

"Do you remember anything about it?" she asks, full of hope.

He looks down at the table. "No."

"Perhaps a hobby then."

Lydia tries very hard to hide her disappointment. She really shouldn't build up hope for such little things. She had made her decision not to tell him for a reason.

The morning of her eighteenth birthday is one that is most heart breaking. She had been waiting for it so long, but now it's just as irrelevant as any other birthday. One year older, another Prada bag richer. At school, she tells everyone to not make it a big deal. And they wouldn't anyways. Not since Derek figured out where the pack is hiding.

"We can't just pack our bags and go to Washington," Stiles argues in the school parking lot. "This isn't Mexico, and today's Lydia's birthday."

Derek gives her a tight smile. "They've kidnapped someone else and probably probing her as we speak. We don't have time to consider."

"Who is it?" Lydia asks dryly, frustrated at the way her powers have failed her. She'd been trying to figure out the codes, but Derek beat her to it.

"We don't know. But she's no werewolf that's for sure."

"Okay," she says.

They're on the plane that evening.

Lydia's head retaliates with a painful migraine as she forces the voices to speak up.

"Lydia," they whisper. "Lydia, Lydia, Lydia."

She's listening.

"Lydia, the loveless. Lydia, death's omen. Lydia, the Banshee."

Tell me, she insists. What are they doing to the girl?

The voices hiss in return. Laugh shrilly. "Your powers are so weak, Lydia."

Then make them stronger, she cries.

"They're weak because you want what they can't give you."

I just want to help, she begs.

"You can only know death," the voice says, then falls silent.

Lydia rubs her temples; she's going out of her mind.

It's outside the suspected building that a scream rips out of Lydia's throat. She breathes heavily for a moment.

"The girl," she says. "She's dead."

Derek grinds his teeth. "We're late after all."

"Not for the fight," Scott concludes, eyes glowing red in the middle of the street. "We do everything as planned."

They attack, but the building is empty.

"How'd they clear out so fast?" Malia asks. "I can still smell them."

"They're not regular werewolves." Derek offers, tightlipped.

They find the girl's body. Not unlike Jordan's, she's swollen and cut. Her arms are bruised dark purple and green, limp at her sides. Lydia shudders. Being so close to death is unnerving.

"Look," Stiles says, pointing to the girl's hand. A strangely shaped birthmark.

"It's a witch's mark," Deaton says, flipping pages in a dusty book back in Beacon Hills. "It makes sense now."

"A witch?" Lydia asks. "Are witches immortal?"

Deaton considers, "No, but they can be."

"So the pack is trying to get a witch's magic powers that will make them immortal?" Stiles asks.

"Something like that." Deaton answers. "Except witches can do so much more than just be immortal."

"That's all fine and dandy," Stiles says, breaking the concentration in the room. "Except, how are we supposed to fight these things when half of us aren't even normal werewolves?"

"Stiles," Scott warns.

"Look at me Scott. I'm just meat on bone. I can't fight that!"

"Stop," Lydia says, sick of hearing them bicker. "They couldn't have gone far enough into their research to produce any results, yet."

"How do you know that?" Malia asks doubtfully.

"Because this is science," Lydia snaps back. "They're going to need more samples, and more test subjects."

"So we find them before they master the formula." Malia concludes

"No," Scott says. "We find them before they find another victim."


	4. Action and Reaction

_Action and Reaction _

Lydia takes it upon herself to try and feel death. Tries to buy them time, long enough to save the next victim.

"You look tired," Jordan says from across the room. "You work so hard."

Lydia shifts in her seat. She hasn't seen him in a while, but this is his domain, so she's in no place to complain.

"I just need to figure it out," Lydia explains. "But I don't know what I'm looking for."

Jordan walks over to the table, sits down. "Why do you do it?"

"For my friends," she says earnestly. "Because I need to."

He reaches out for her shoulder, squeezes it. This is the first physical contact they've had since – no, she refuses to recall. But the image burns deep in her mind, Jordan kissing her on the forehead, whispering goodnight. The shoulder squeeze pales in comparison, makes her feel cold.

"Just take it easy," he says. "You're only human."

Except, she's not human. And neither is Jordan, but maybe if they both were, this wouldn't be so difficult. Maybe they'd both be happy. She watches him stride out of the room, sighs.

She falls asleep.

"Lydia," Sherriff Stilinski calls, shaking her gently. "I think it's time to head home."

She looks up at him, shivers. "What time is it?"

The Sherriff laughs, "It's late. I'll have Parrish drive you home."

"I'll drive," Lydia says. "Really, I'm okay."

"You're too drowsy to be behind the wheel." He says, giving her a pointed look. She sighs, feels her insides burn with anxiety.

Jordan drives steadily, the car enveloped in silence. Lydia looks out the window, her eyes darting through the familiar roads, houses, places. She feels wistful, tries to keep her mind and eyes off of Jordan. But she feels his eyes on her frequently, feels her body reacting to it even though she knows it's not right.

He pulls into her driveway, and she realizes that she hadn't even told him her address.

"Thanks," Lydia says, giving him a tight smile. She's about to climb out of the car, but something stops her. She looks up at him again, sees his eyes searching her face, brows creased, lips slightly parted. It stops her in her tracks. Neither of them speaks. The air is thick with anticipation. With unrequited action.

He leans in, hand brushes the side of her face and Lydia shivers with a mixture of anxiety and want. He kisses her. His mouth moves hungrily over hers, parting her lips, tongue flicking over tongue. Jordan pulls her closer and she's surprised at how willingly she goes, locking her hands around his neck, gasping as his hands caress her sides. They've never kissed this way before. Always gentle, quick. Jordan was cautious, and she was underage so she didn't want to ask too much of him. But something has changed, and it's not just her age. Lydia climbs into his lap, feels the hardness of his erection against her, relishes the sound he makes when she grinds on it, kisses him that much harder for it.

"Lydia," he bemoans and she shudders at the sound of her name on his lips. Pulls away. Like a wave, reality hits her. Arousal ebbs and she's left with an incredible sense of guilt. She'd used him for her own advantage.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, concern in his eyes. She's still in his lap, fingers pressed against her lips. "Did I overstep the line?"

"No," she says.

He sighs, looks her in the eye. "You're such an enigma, Lydia." He says. "The more you push away, the more I want to reach out. I just want to know you. I want to be with you."

Jordan's words are so earnest; they're like pins, prickling through Lydia's insides until she's squirming. She feels weak for giving in, feels stupid for everything.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I need to go."

Lydia leaves before she can see the crestfallen look on his face. But she knows it's there, and it hurts more than a punch to the kidney.

She doesn't visit the police station. Stares out the window of her house and into the driveway. Curses under her breath. Lydia promised herself not to hurt him again, but the more she tries the more everyone gets hurt. Including her. Tears run down her face as the desperation sinks in once more. Everyone she loves dies, so perhaps she shouldn't love at all. Her Banshee powers are useless, she decides. They're only a curse to her, no help to anyone else.

She screams. Letting it all out is therapeutic, except someone is also dead. But there's a whisper in her head, and Lydia's mindlessly scribbling on a pad of paper at her desk.

"Another code," she says with a tinge of frustration. But as her eyesight blurs with the oncoming tears, she sees familiar words.

"He who searches for immortality is a mortal through and through."

Lydia snaps back. One of the pack members had died. She dials Scott.

Deaton is pensive at his desk.

"Immortality is given, then." He says. "Not taken."

"So they're all going to die?" Malia asks hopefully. "Without our intervention?"

"Not so fast."

"I doubt they'd try that again," Stiles says. "After one of them died."

Malia scowls at him.

"They're weak," Lydia says, her hands pressed to her head. "And confused."

"Then we strike," Derek says, appearing from the darkness of the room.

"While we have the chance," Braeden adds.

Lydia's prepared, or so she hopes. She'll avenge the witch girl, avenge Jordan. Avenge herself. Except she has a bad feeling about it, as though the voices want to tell her something is coming, but don't want to speak outright about it. She takes a deep breath, straightens out her shirt, tucks a hair behind her ear. There's no time for second-guessing.

But there's time for a double take.

"What is Parrish doing here?" Lydia whispers, thick, viscous venom seeping through each word.

"It was Deaton's idea." Scott says, tightlipped. "He wants him to witness the fight, in case it brings back memories."

"What?" Lydia spits, rather loudly. Jordan looks at her timidly from across the room. "This is insane. He'll be traumatized."

"I don't know," Scott whispers. "Deaton is rarely wrong about things."

Lydia whisks away, rubbing her temples. She hopes the feeling is not a premonition of Jordan's death. Or worse, one of her friend's.

Jordan grabs her by the arm, spins her to face him. "Lydia," he says.

She inhales. "You need to stay away,"

"Scott asked me to help,"

"No, Jordan." Lydia emphasizes. "You need to stay away from this. It's not your fight."

Jordan looks away, confused. "You're just a bunch of kids. I'm a trained professional and I can help."

Lydia huffs, anger cursing through her veins. Bunch of _kids_. "You were dead some months ago. And now you want to risk your life again for something you can't even understand, can't even know."

"Then tell me," He says, losing his temper too now.

"I can't," she breathes, eyes searching his face. "It's not my place."

Jordan cracks his knuckles. "You confuse me so much, Lydia. And if I have to go to this fight to find out what's going on, then I will. Even if it's the last thing I do."

"Fine then." Lydia says, looking away. "But don't come running to me. I warned you. I've warned you about it last time too."

"Last time?"

But she doesn't stay to elaborate. Some mistakes are just destined to be repeated.


	5. What Doesn't Kill You

_What Doesn't Kill You…_

The pack is in Beacon Hills again, at least to the extent that Malia, Derek and Scott can tell. They're on the side of an obscure country road, looking at the woods in front of them cautiously.

"They must be weak," Derek whispers to Scott, as not to rouse Jordan's suspicions. "Their Alpha is dead."

"So, who's the new Alpha?" Stiles blurts from behind Scott. His face falls with the realization that he just revealed something he shouldn't have. Derek scowls audibly.

"Alpha?" Jordan asks, looking up from his survey of the dirt road.

"Leader," Stiles says, grimacing. "It's slang."

Jordan's eyebrows crease, but he doesn't question them further.

"I can't sense anything," Scott whispers, and Lydia shudders at the word because she's sensing a myriad of things. Voices directing her, whispering louder. Perhaps someone else is dying.

"Me neither," Malia concurs, looking around dramatically.

Their combined concentration is broken by Jordan's voice as he exclaims, "There's blood stains leading into the woods."

Derek frowns. "We would have smelled them by now."

But Jordan doesn't wait for the rest of the group to come to a conclusion; he's gone in through the thickness of the trees.

And now, so has Lydia. Except the voices pull her into a different direction and she finds it difficult to control her body movements. She wants to yell at Jordan, but can't hear her own words, or thoughts, behind the noise.

Lydia stands in front of a body. The blood flowing out of the woman's mouth is still warm, thick, her eyes still open. She feels the scream coming, knows then when it crosses her lips she'll be found. But there's no stopping death, and so there's no stopping the scream. It echoes through the woods, and somewhere in the distance, the rest of the pack pause their search.

"Do Banshees scream when they're dead?" Malia asks.

"There's only one way to find out," Braeden says, cracking her knuckles.

But Lydia is not dead, even when she's found. They tie her up, walk around her cautiously. There's only three members left. One of them is a woman with bright red hair. She stands in the corner, looks at Lydia with a sly smile.

"You fell for it," an older man says. One of his eyes is glazed with cataracts. Another man, much younger snickers. "Walked right into it," he says.

"What do you need from me?" Lydia asks.

"Just some of your juice." He says, baring her arms, touching the insides of her elbows. She looks around, tries to stay focused. They're in a wooden shack, probably an old hunter's cabin.

"You killed one of your own just to get some blood from me? Your last formula didn't even work!"

"Oh," the old man chuckles. "it worked."

Lydia gulps. "Then why is your Alpha dead?"

"Because we don't need an Alpha."

Realization dawns upon Lydia that moment. The Alpha was not the recipient of their magic concoction.

"If you're all immortal and indestructible, how'd you kill that woman?"

"When there's a will, there's a way." The old man chuckles again, eyes flicking over to the woman in the corner. She grins. "But enough background. This will only hurt a lot."

He slices her arms.

The pain is nothing compared to the chaos of her mind. Voices scream louder and more audibly now that she's the one dying.

"He who searches for immortality is mortal through and through," they chant. Lydia pleads with them. Wants some peace in her dying moment. She can barely see now, feels cold as the blood is forced out of her body. She gives up. Her life has been a series of doors in her face, obstacle after obstacle, with only short breaks of stability in between. Lydia has never been as close to death as she was now, and it felt like returning home after a very long trip abroad. Bittersweet, but comfortable.

"Lydia," a voice speaks. "Lydia, what do you feel?"

She shudders. "Nothing."

"No, what do you _feel_?" it repeats.

Lydia ponders, feels her body convulse with cold, tingling sensation. There's something heavy in her stomach.

"I'm scared." She whispers. Scared that there's nothing after this, and scared that there is something. Scared for Jordan, scared for her family, her friends. Lydia realizes this is nothing like her trip analogy. It is not comfortable. Death is no comfort when you haven't lived.

"What makes you feel alive, Lydia?" the voice asks. The question is so simple, but Lydia has built a wall to conceal the answer. Except, it doesn't matter anymore, she's dying. Wants to feel the sensation of Jordan's hand on her face, her fingers tracing his jawline. His lips pressed against hers, eyes boring into hers with curious intensity. His voice, thick and aroused in her ear.

"Immortality doesn't eliminate mortal, human emotions." The voice whispers. "A man will always be scared to live, and scared to die."

A loud bang brings Lydia out of her head. She's still tied to a rickety chair, barely able to see the fast moving shapes in front of her.

"Lydia!" someone yells, and then she's being untied. Something warm is being pressed to her arms. It feels foreign to her in this state. "She's lost a lot of blood."

"Scott," she whispers, eyes rolling back into her head. She can barely feel her body now, but she understands.

There's a lot of shuffling, her vision too blurred to see. "Immortality is a concept," she mumbles.

"It's okay Lydia," Scott coaxes her, presses his hand to her wounds, cringes audibly as he takes away some of her pain. "You're gonna be fine." She wants to pull away, but can't move. Feels bad for enjoying the ceasing of pain.

"Trick them," she tries again. "Trick them into thinking they're mortal."

"How?" Scott asks, supporting her head as he removes her from the chair. There's more loud banging, shouting. She can head the old man laugh in the distance.

"Scared to live," she whispers. "Scared to die."

She blacks out.

But doesn't die.

Because her eyelids slide upwards from her eyes and she sees the darkness of the woods at night, feels the warmth returning to her body.

"Lydia,"

The voice is so familiar, and as she focuses her eyes, she can make out the faint outline of Jordan's face.

"Jordan," she breathes. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he stutters. "I don't know what's going on."

"Why am I not dead?" She asks. It's a mixture of literal and hypothetical.

"You were dying," he says, looking back towards the shack. They're behind a tree, but in close proximity. The air smells like blood and dirt. "But something happened."

"We need to get back," Lydia says, putting her survival on the back burner. Maybe Banshees can be immortal too; maybe that's why they hunted her.

"No," he says. "Stay here. I'll go."


	6. Story Time

_Story Time_

Lydia climbs out of Jordan's grip, looks at her arms. The gashes have closed up miraculously. For a moment, she wonders if it was all just a dream. But the dull ache in her legs, the heaviness in her stomach persists.

She returns to the shack, and despite his protests, Jordan follows.

"If it isn't our little Banshee and her Phoenix boyfriend." The younger man jeers, his lupine teeth protruding. She can feel Jordan's gaze on the back of her neck and feels caught.

"He patched you up real nice," he says, dodging a bullet flying towards his head. "But we still got enough of your blood to make it all worth it."

Lydia shudders, looks at her arms again. They're scared to die, she remembers. Musters up the courage to talk.

"Why are you dodging the bullets?" She asks, sounding almost casual.

The young man looks at her curiously. His eyes shift back and forth between blue and human. Claws retract as he dodges another one.

"You can't kill us." He says.

"Right." Lydia says. "So why make this scene? Why dodge the bullets?"

The man's eyebrows furrow.

"They won't hurt you." She repeats.

The man relaxes just enough for Braeden to aim and shoot. He's thrown back with the impact, surprised at his own body's reaction.

Lydia runs up to him, lying sprawled on the grimy floor.

"I don't understand," he stutters, clutching the wound on the side of his torso. "This shouldn't be happening."

"Aw," Braeden says. "Someone didn't do enough research before messing with dark magic."

"Technically just chemistry," Lydia says.

Braeden scoffs, then shoves her away as the old man attacks them with a roar.

She shoots him, but the wound heals on impact. Then, as if on impulse, she shoots the man bleeding on the ground.

Lydia screams, and the old man's resolve breaks down.

"What the hell!" He screams, "What's in the bullets?"

"Wolfsbane," Braeden says as Derek, approaching from the back restrains the man, twists his arms back. She shoots a second time.

"Sorry Lydia," she says as another scream vibrates through the cabin.

Two of them are dead, and Lydia counts this as a victory of sorts.

"Not so fast," the woman with the red hair says, emerging from the darkness. The shack is so small that it's unlikely she was able to hide this whole time. Her voice is so familiar that Lydia shudders uncomfortably.

Braeden shoots, but the woman barely twitches at the impact. She cracks a smile.

"Thanks for finishing off the posse."

The pack pauses, looking at the woman, mesmerized. Lydia's blood runs cold.

"What do you want from us?" Scott asks.

"Nothing," she says. "I'm not here to fight."

"That's not for you to decide." Malia pips. She looks haggard, her hair matted with sweat.

The woman inhales. "A bunch of kids can't kill me. I'm not a werewolf, and I'm definitely not hopped up on blood."

"Then what do you want?" Scott asks.

"Chaos,"

"Chaos, really." Stiles interrupts. "Do you get off watching people go at each other or something?"

She smiles. "Actually yes. Humans, werewolves, the whole lot. You succumb to mortal desires so easily."

"This is not a game." Braeden says, aiming her gun at the woman.

"I'm a trickster spirit." The woman says. "Your world is nothing but a game to me."

"Don't make me shoot you again." Braeden spits, gritting her teeth. Derek gives her a pointed look.

"Take this pack for an example," she says, walking towards the dead bodies, wrinkling her nose. "Strong, morally sound. But plant a small seed of immortality in their heads and they're unrecognizable."

"You planning to kill us off this way too?" Lydia asks, her voice cracking.

"Oh Lydia," the woman says, looking at her sympathetically. "You were in the equation. But you won."

"What?"

"The voices, Lydia."

"That was you?" She asks, her body numb with the realization that she's been possessed. She can feel everyone's eyes on her, wants to vanish from the spot.

"You did everything right," the woman says, shrugging. "Except for Romeo here. You didn't have to cut him out like some martyr."

"I wasn't-"

"Oh whine whine _whine_," the woman says dramatically, slumping into the chair Lydia was tied to earlier. "All that teenage angst. Not my definition of fun by any means."

"What is she talking about?" Jordan says, emerging form behind Stiles. "What the hell is going on?"

The woman narrows her eyes with interest. "Well well well," she says. "I've got time. Let me tell you a little story of Jordan Parrish, the Phoenix."

"What?"

The woman throws her head back. "There was a Jordan Parrish, working as a Deputy at the Beacon Hills police station. A man with strong moral beliefs, wanting nothing but to _help_ people." She smiles wistfully.

"Is this necessary?" Lydia asks.

"Well, someone has got to tell the poor guy." The woman insists and Lydia feels her insides contort with anxiety. "Jordan here, knows nothing about the supernatural in this town, and he's better for it. Except one day, he notices Lydia. Young, beautiful Lydia, waltzing around the police station everyday, and he falls in love. Faster and harder than a drunk driver hitting a tree."

Jordan looks at Lydia, eyebrows furrowed still.

"But then big bad wolves come to town and drain him of blood for their experiments, and he dies. But wait! Jordan Parrish is not just your regular blood pumping human. He's a Phoenix, characterized by his ability to regenerate after death. Kind of like Jesus, but better looking." She winks. Lydia looks at him in her peripheral vision, gulps when she notices his fists, knuckles white.

"Is this supposed to be some kind of a joke?" he asks.

"No joke. Just giving you some background." The woman says, tucking a bright red strand of hair behind her ear. "Where was I? Oh yes. Jordan comes back to life like a good little Phoenix, not remembering anything. Lydia here, moping like the teenage girl that she is, doesn't tell him and suffers the sexual tension in private." She stops talking, looks at Lydia with a smile.  
>"Yes, I know about the dreams."<p>

Lydia's face burns red with shame.

"But Jordan gets déjà vu from before his near-death experience, feeling like there's something he's forgetting all the time. Simultaneously, he's extremely attracted to our girl Lydia here, and he doesn't know why. Then after one hot make out session and a painful rejection, he does what any respectable officer would do, and joins her friends on a mission to find some 'gang'. Is that what you called it?" she laughs. "But it doesn't go to plan and Lydia gets her arms slit, so he sheds the magic Phoenix tears and heals her without even knowing it! How romantic." She stares into the distance pensively, then claps her hands and gets off the chair in one sudden motion.

"Story time over." She says. "Congratulations on your victory, kids. For your own sake, let's hope we don't cross paths again."

Derek scowls, and she looks at him with a smirk. "And don't try to find me."

And then she's gone.


	7. Beginnings of Stability

_Beginnings of Stability _

"I don't understand," Jordan says, rubbing his eyes in frustration. They're sitting on a log outside the hunting cabin, and the sun is rising, casting an orange glow around the trees. "How can any of this be true?"

Lydia sighs. The rest of the pack is slowly walking towards the cars, tiptoeing around them. They want to give them space, but it puts too much pressure on her. Why is it her responsibility to explain?

"The trickster was telling the truth," Lydia says quietly. "At least to the extent that I know." She didn't know he was in love with her back then. Somehow it doesn't make this easier.

"So, so I'm this weird supernatural creature." He says, staring into his open palms. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't my place." She says simply. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"And the other stuff." Jordan says.

Lydia looks away. "The other stuff?"

"The part where I was in love with you."

"I don't know about that," she mumbles. "You weren't exactly eloquent with your words. And I was underage."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he questions again.

"Because I didn't think it was important enough to tell." Lydia says, feeling blood rushing up to her face. Feeling impatient and stupid. So stupid.

"Oh," he says. "I guess what happened in the car was also unimportant." He sounds bitter.

Lydia doesn't make eye contact. "That shouldn't worry you." She says. "You just found out you're a Phoenix. Shouldn't that be your first priority?"

"Except," Jordan says. "Somehow it's not."

"It should be."

"So you don't care."

"I just wanted to protect you." She yells.

"How? By causing me pain? I was so confused, and I was in love with you. I didn't know why I kept feeling that way, and you ignored me. Made me feel like I did something wrong."

Lydia shakes her head, "I didn't know you were still in love with me. Didn't know you ever were in the first place. I thought it'd be easier for you to recover without feeling guilty."

"But you knew after that night. And you still left me." He says, looking down at the ground.

"Do you think it was easy?" she asks, looking up at him indignantly. "Do you think it's easy to see someone you love not remember anything about you? It's worse than death. And that night, I lost control. I pushed myself onto you. "

"Really?" Jordan says, looking straight into her eyes. "What gave you the impression that I didn't want to participate? Was it the fact that I initiated the kiss? Or was it the fact that I asked to be with you?"

"Look, it's not that easy."

"No, Lydia. It's really easy. Either you love someone and you stay with them, or you don't love them, and you leave. You know my choice, now what's yours?"

Lydia's shoulders hunch even more. She stares into at her feet, sighs.

"I don't know if I can do this," she says.

Jordan's breath hitches. "So, no."

"Look," Lydia explains. "You don't remember anything. You don't remember how you fell in love with me, why you fell in love with me."

"I don't need to remember that."

"No," she says. "No, you do. Because one day you'll wake up and those feelings will be gone. And you won't even know why they were there to begin with. You'll grow resentful, feel like I forced this relationship."

"I don't know what I'll feel like years from now," He says bitterly. "But it hurts that you won't even give me a chance. You'd rather it didn't happen at all."

Lydia sighs, looks up at him. She wishes things were different, wishes she loved him less. Thinks she deserves him knowing why he loves her too.

"Thanks for saving me." She says, slowly rising to her feet. "I'm sorry."

She walks away, trying hard not to look back. Trying hard not to feel the devastation spreading inside of her like wildfire. She knows what she chose, and Lydia sticks to her guns. But the pain persists. It's what makes her feel alive.

When she gets into Derek's car, he looks at her cautiously.

Braeden looks back at her from the front seat, her face blank.

"Guessing that didn't go so well." She says simply.

"I guess," Lydia says. "I guess it was never meant to go well."

"Don't be silly," Braeden smiles. "Things have a way of coming around."

But Lydia doubts it, because in the next weeks, Jordan resigns from the police station, much to Sheriff's chagrin. He moves out of his apartment in Beacon Hills, and leaves. Lydia sighs in relief, but the relief is mixed with disappointment and heartbreak.

When she gets home that day, there's a letter in the mailbox.

_Lydia,_

_I'm sorry for everything that happened between us. You were right about one thing. I need to figure out my life. Or_ lives_. You've probably heard that I'm leaving Beacon Hills._

_Take care of yourself._

_Best Regards,_

_Jordan Parrish_

She rips the letter up, tosses it into the trashcan. Her head feels light. No voices, no strange premonitions. She takes a deep breath before settling onto her bed and starting her Algebra practice test.

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading! :D I wrote this story as a bit of stress release (which is why it's so damn angsty), so I appreciate someone enjoying the product! There's two more chapters to go after this one, and (warning) the last one is going to be a little more sexy than anything we've seen so far in the story. **


	8. Five Years Later

_Five Years Later_

The hot August air blows Lydia's hair into her face, making strands of it stick to her lips. She adjusts it, takes a sip of her virgin Margarita. The day is just winding down, and people are slowly dispersing. The balcony, though, is just private enough for her to relax a little. She planned this party for Stiles and Malia, planned to enjoy it too, but something bothers her. Like an itch she can't scratch.

"Do you wanna head back in?" Kira says, peaking through the curtains. "It's just us now."

Lydia smiles, "Of course."

Her feet are tired from wearing those five-inch heels, and she feels tense from carrying herself proudly all day. But now it's just the pack, so she can kick back and breathe out.

"What are you two still doing here?" she says to Malia. "Go home and enjoy your engaged life."

"We've been enjoying it for weeks now," Stiles says. "In case you didn't know."

"Yeah, yeah." Lydia rolls her eyes. "It's not official until there's been a party."

Malia hugs her, a little too tightly. After all this time, she still shows signs of her coyote past.

"I'll see you in Pilates on Tuesday," she says, then pointing to Kira adds "You too, Vixen."

Lydia drives home in complete silence. There's something familiar in the low hum of the car, the dull ache in her feet. She smiles to herself. Everything has turned out better than expected, she thinks, pulling into the driveway of her mother's mansion.

She doesn't live here anymore; invested in a beautiful high-rise apartment. But her mother is away on a cruise, and it's she's feeling nostalgic tonight, as though something is deliberately bringing her to this spot.

And that something, that _someone,_ is sitting on the front steps, watching her pull in. She gets out of the car; heart beating so fast it's making her dizzy.

"Lydia," he says, rising to meet her. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, a while." Lydia says, smiling tightly. She tries to act nonchalant. Tries not to trip over her own feet. "What brings Jordan Parrish to Beacon Hills?"

"I was in the neighborhood." He jokes. "No, I came here with a purpose."

"Let me guess," Lydia says, walking towards the front door and searching for her key in the bag. She's playing it casual, but even she can't deny that there's still something _there_. "Did you forget something?"

"Actually yes." He says, eyes flashing brightly in the darkness. "Five years ago, I lost something. And I'd really like to get it back."

She unlocks the door, swings it open to let him in.

"A long time has passed. How do you know if that something wants to be found again?"

Jordan's eyes are on her as she undoes the straps of her heels. Casts them aside. Lydia would be lying if she weren't trying to work her angles. She'd also be lying if she said she didn't wonder why Jordan was here.

"I don't know that," he says. "But I thought I'd take my chances."

Lydia sighs. Jordan looks better than ever, those five years having only done him good. Toned, handsome and well, he's Jordan Parrish. Lydia's first serious love. And last serious love, so far.

"Why are you really here?" she asks. "You left with not much more than a note, and now you're here five years later. I'm not the 17-year-old girl anymore. Though I doubt you even remember that."

"Actually," Jordan says. "I do remember. I remember everything."

Lydia furrows her eyebrows.

"I learned to get my memories back." He says. "Look, last time we spoke you said you needed me to know why I was in love with you, not just that I was. And I remember now."

"Took a long time," Lydia says, walking towards the kitchen to have something to do. Her mind is reeling with past emotions unearthed. Suddenly, it's like she's 18 again, kissing Jordan in his police car in front of this very house.

"I've known for a long time," Jordan admits, following her at a safe distance. She turns towards him suddenly.

"Then why didn't you come back?"

"You're not the only one who has a martyr complex, Lydia." He says. "I decided I'd be doing you a disservice. You were young and I thought you'd find someone who was your age, with your potential. Be a power couple."

Lydia scoffs, considers being angry at Jordan for thinking that way.

"That has never worked for me," she says dryly. "But why now, Jordan? If you made that decision, why come back now?"

"The Sheriff invited me to Stiles' engagement party." Jordan says. "I found out you were planning it, and that you weren't involved with anyone. It gave me hope that we could-"

Lydia gulps, runs a hand through her hair. "We can't go back."

"No, I know." He says. "But we could always start over."

She considers, licks her lips because they are suddenly so dry. And feels so hot, even in her thin chiffon dress. She wants to say yes, wants to leap into his arms and never ever let go. But Lydia is no child, and what didn't work years ago might not work again today.

"How would this work?" She asks, looking him in the eye. Searching for a weak spot in his resolve.

"I'm moving back to Beacon Hills," he says. "Whatever your decision may be."

"Is Stilinski taking you back?"

Jordan's lips tighten. "I'm a private investigator now."

"And the whole Phoenix thing?"

"It's under control. Though surprisingly helpful with the job."

Lydia allows herself to smile. She didn't think Jordan would ever return, but now that he has, feels like it's always meant to happen. Perhaps subconsciously, Lydia has been waiting for it to.

"Things always have a way of coming around," she says, approaching Jordan, not breaking their eye contact. Heart beating fast, shivers running down her spine. It's like being completely off balance while trying to accomplish a very delicate task. The task of kissing Jordan Parrish.

She presses her lips to his slowly, deliberately. Doesn't close her eyes until the last moment, deepens the kiss as she wraps her hands around his neck. He pulls her closer against him, holds her steadily at the waist as he teases her mouth open with his tongue. Lydia shivers at the contact, pulls her hands down his chest slowly, feeling the movements of his body, breathing, the frantic beating of his heart.

They pull away for a moment, looking at each other through their lashes, just barely smiling. There's no urgency in their kiss, no blind lust.

"I think I found it," Jordan whispers "The thing I came back for."

"I helped look for it." She replies, gazing at his kiss-swollen mouth before leaning in again.

**A/N: Yay, the angst is over! Thanks for reading and leave a review if you enjoyed it. The last chapter will be posted later today/tomorrow. C:**


	9. What Feels Right

_What Feels Right_

Jordan places fluttering kisses on her neck, down her collarbone and bare shoulder. She stretches her neck back, pulls on his hair as he toys with the strap of her dress. It takes an excruciatingly long time for him to slide it off her shoulder, kiss the skin that the action bares. Lydia pulls him back, kisses him again. It's breathy and a little rushed, and she feels like everything around her is spinning out of control. Just hours ago, she was watching her two best friends plan for the future. Everyone in the pack has coupled up, everyone except for Lydia. And she was okay with that.

But in this moment, she can't believe she's waited five years for this. Spent five years not kissing Jordan Parrish.

"Maybe we should wait," he whispers against her neck, and she can hardly believe his words.

"I want to do this right," he says, eyes settling on her flushed face. She pulls the strap of her dress back, frowns. "I want to ask you on a date. On a _real_ date."

Lydia snorts, her hands gripping the back of the kitchen counter. "A date?"

He furrows his brows.

"How much longer do I have to wait?" she says. "It's been years, Jordan."

He doesn't look away from her face, but he's unsure. Confused.

"You deserve a proper relationship." He says. "With fancy dates, and hopeful glances and stolen goodnight kisses."

Lydia laughs, but it's a bitter laugh. She grips the collar of his jacket, pulls him forward. Kisses his look of confusion away.

"We've been through too much, Jordan." She says. "Those things you mentioned, they're great. But I don't want that."

The corners of his mouth lift playfully.

"We're too far-gone for hopeful glances." Lydia whispers, "Or stolen kisses. Let's just do what feels right."

Jordan doesn't need telling twice. He closes the remaining space between them, and she pulls his jacket off forcefully, as though it is a matter of life and death. And it feels like that, the rush of adrenaline as she's finally touching him, the real Jordan Parrish, and he's not pulling away. His shirt comes off next, and he wraps his strong arms around her, pulls her up on the kitchen counter in one fluid motion. Lydia's hands explore his torso, fingertips brushing along the skin as though trying to remember every slope and hollow. He bends down to kiss up her thighs, pushing the hem of her dress higher and higher until its pooled in her lap. She supports herself, arms on his shoulders, head rolling back as she stifles the moans tearing out of her throat. And he comes closer inch by inch, kissing the tender skin until his nose presses against the sheer fabric of her panties. He remains there for a slow moment, teasing her, inhaling the arousal that pools low in her belly.

Lydia pulls him back up, kisses hungrily, wrapping her legs around his waist to get as close to him as she possibly can. And he inhales sharply as she deliberately presses against his erection, smiles against the kiss.

"We need to get to the bedroom," she musters in between kisses, and he picks her off the counter, legs still wrapped around him.

Walking up the stairs while kissing proves harder than expected, so Lydia slides out of his arms and drags him behind her by the waist of his jeans. He follows eagerly, trying to pull her back into an embrace, but she's fast and nimble and only lets him kiss her again when he's pressed against the wall of her bedroom. Lydia kisses the crook of his neck while her fingers work on undoing the belt, unzipping the jeans and then pulling them down along with his boxers. She takes a step back, admiring his messy make out hair, his flushed skin, the trail of hair that leads to his erection.

Jordan smiles, chuckles. "This isn't entirely fair," he says, leaning in to grab her by the hips. Kisses her lightly, pushing both of the straps of her dress off the shoulders. It falls down half way, resting on her waist and he scowls. Lydia laughs, turns and gathers all her hair over one shoulder, exposing her neck and back, skin covered in goosebumps from his gaze alone. Jordan places kisses against her skin, fingers fiddling with the zipper until he finally succeeds in dropping the dress to her knees. He holds her against him, hands splayed across her stomach, breathing in her scent as he kisses, sends waves of pleasure up her spine.

The rest of Lydia's clothes come off in the scramble of getting to the bed.

"Wait," Lydia says, placing a couple of accent pillows on the floor. "These were expensive."

Jordan laughs, pulls her back, and she laughs along with him because how silly is she for caring about some pillows when she's with _Jordan Parrish_. She'd ruin a million pillows for him.

And she might just have to.

**A/N: Sorry this chapter comes quite late, but I had a midterm yesterday and loads of work. Thanks for sticking with me, and for reading this fanfic, and Happy Marrish to you all! **

**:D :D**


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